Syd Belton

"Well?"

"I'm going right away, Master Syd, to make a fortune. Come along o'

me."

"What!" said Syd, who felt startled at the suddenness of the proposition, one which accorded so well with his own wishes. "Go with you?"

"Oh, I don't mean as mates, only go together," whispered Pan. "You'd always be master, and I'd always clean your knives and boots for you."

"And what should we do, Pan? Where could we go so as to make a living?"

"Make a living?" said Pan, in a wondering tone. "Don't want to make a living--we want to make a fortune."

"But we must have some money."

"I've got two s.h.i.+llings saved up."

Syd's brow puckered. He knew a little more about the necessities of life, and did not feel disposed to set sail on the river of life with no more than two s.h.i.+llings.

"But you've got some money, Master Syd?"

"Yes; eight or nine s.h.i.+llings, and a crown uncle gave me day before yesterday."

"Come along then, that's enough."

Syd hesitated, and thought of the five guineas thrown down in his room.

"If you don't come they'll send you to sea."

That settled it. So evenly was the lad balanced, that a feather-weight was enough to work a change. His dread of the sea sent the scale down heavily.

"Wait here," he said.

"What for?"

"Till I've been and tied up some clean clothes to take with me."

"Never mind your clothes," whispered Pan. "If your father catches you there'll be no chance."

"Look here," said Syd sharply, "if I'm going with you, Pan Strake, I shall do as I like. I'm not going to be ordered about by you."

"No, Master Syd, I won't say nothing no more."

Sydney stood thinking for a moment or two, not hesitating, for his mind seemed quite made up. Then without another word he stepped on to the gra.s.s, and ran up the garden, keeping out of sight of the occupants of the dining-room, by interposing the bushes between him and them.

His heart began to beat heavily now, as the full force of that which he was about to do impressed him on hearing his father's voice speaking loudly; and as he crept nearer the window, so as to pa.s.s it, behind the bushes, and reach the entrance, he heard the captain say plainly, his words sounding loudly from the open dining-room window--

"Yes, Tom, I've quite made up my mind. It will be the best thing for him. It will be a better school than the one he is at. Time he

"Yes, quite; and good luck to him," said his uncle, gruffly.

Syd stopped to hear no more, but hurried to the front, waited till all was silent in the pantry, and then slipped up to his bedroom, where a few minutes sufficed for him to make up a change of clothes in a handkerchief.

That was all he wanted, he told himself. No: a brush and comb.

"Comb will do," he muttered; "people going to seek their fortunes don't want brushes."

He ran his hand in the darkness along the dressing-table, and touched not a comb, but a tiny pile of money.

Five s.h.i.+llings! And on his dressing-table! How did they come there?

He knew the next moment they were not s.h.i.+llings but guineas, the five he pa.s.sionately threw down in a corner of the room, and when the maid came up to straighten the place she must have found them and placed them on the table. It was tempting.

Syd was going away out into the wide world with only a few s.h.i.+llings in his pocket, and these guineas, which were honestly his, would be invaluable, and help him perhaps out of many a sc.r.a.pe. Should he take them or no?

Syd pushed them away from him. They were given to him because his uncle believed that he was going patiently with him to see his friend in London. If he took them it would seem despicable, and he could not bear that; so hurrying out of the room, he ran down-stairs lightly and as quickly as possible, so as to get away and beyond the power of the house, which seemed to be all at once growing dear to him, and acting like a magnet to draw him back.

As he cleared the door and made for the shrubs, he heard his uncle's voice as he laughed at something the captain said. Then Captain Belton spoke again, and Syd clapped his hand and his bundle to his ears to stop the sound.

"If I listen I shan't be able to go," he said with a sigh; and he was just about to break into a trot to run down and join Pan, when there was a footstep on the gravel, and the boy stopped short in the shadow cast by a tree.

"Father!" he said to himself. "Can he have found out so soon?"

The step on the gravel came nearer, and Syd knew that it must have pa.s.sed right under the tree where Pan was hiding.

"Could father have gone down there so quickly?" thought the boy.

Then all doubt was at an end, for he whose steps were heard stopped close at hand, muttering aloud--

"Swears he ketched sight on him in the road to-night, so he must have come home. If I on'y do get howd on him by the scruff of his precious neck, I'll teach him to run away."

A cold chill ran through Sydney, and he s.h.i.+vered. Suppose his father knew that he was going to do this mean, contemptible thing--run away and degrade himself--what would he say? and how would he act? Like Barnaby spoke, his old boatswain and gardener?

Syd s.h.i.+vered again. He was not afraid of the pain, but he shrank from the idea of the degradation. He fancied himself held by the collar and a stick raised to punish him. It was horrible.

"If I don't loosen his hide my name arn't what it is," growled the old boatswain; and he moved on, going close by Sydney, who stood listening with heavily beating heart till Barney had gone right up to the back of the house.

Then only did Sydney run on till he was beneath the tree, and called Pan.

"You there?"

"Yes, Master Syd."

"Did you hear who that was down the garden?"

"Father."

"Did you hear what he said?"

There was a low laugh up in the tree.